The Fox and the Hound
by SheStalksTheShadows
Summary: Does not follow Season 8 story line, nor do I own any rights to GoTs. - Sandor Clegane ( The Hound) desires to rebuild his namesake after having finally killed off his brother. Coming across an old reminder from his past, he discovers the key to finally changing his life for the future.


**Burn It All Down**

Billows of dark smoke rose high in the dusky skies as wild flames consumed the stone and wood that was once Celgane Keep. The Hound kept his distance from the fiery display, but stood firm his ground to make sure he witnessed the very last stone fall underneath its grasp.

" Fuck this place." His husky voice growled as he watched the remains of Celgane Keep crumble under the fires. For a man that absolutely feared the sight of fire, this time it was a welcome visage.

He had already been bestowed his title and land, that which once belonged to his late brother. Many of the King and Queen's closest companions were already honored prior to the celebration, yet their presence was requested as part of the upcoming ceremony. Sandor Clegane had his own visions of celebration.

The Hound wasted no time in riding to his home and burning the place to the ground. He wanted no part of anything that was his past. The wealth was distributed to the villages under his keep; for he had hoped that it would be some consolidation to make up for all the years of terror Gregor and his band of trolls created upon the those innocent folks. Unfortunately he knew that there was no amount of gold to make up for that nightmare. He only took a small portion for his own keeping, which was just enough to get him started on his journey. Silently he vowed to return, to build a new and to have earned his own wealth, but first he must purge the land and the memory of the Clegane legacy.

"My lord…my lord?" softly mumbled the feeble voice of a man coming upon the towering beast. An old Maester, whose body was crippled and bent, not just from the chains he wore, but from the decades of loyalty served under the house "My..."

Sandor's head whipped away from the scene before him and towards the voice. He must have seemed intimidating for the man quickly cowered back.

"What?" His dark eyes fell upon a cart of artifacts. "I thought I instructed to burn everything. What the fuck is that?"

"Yes…yes you did, Sir…but…these were some of your brother'…err…family's heirlooms. I assumed…"

His lip coiled up into a snarl as he pushed his way beyond the man to inspect the cart's contents. Yes, he wanted everything destroyed, but there was also a hint of curiosity that wouldn't be denied. "This was my family's'?" He questioned as he pulled back the heavy tarps that covered it.

"Some, yes." The old man followed upon his heels. "Your brother also collected many treasures amongst his travels; there are many valuables that may be of some interest to you."

Well-crafted weapons were mingled with jars of jewels and golden statues. "I have no need for any of this. Melt down everything and use the jewels and gold towards the villages." He yanked a dusty cloth to reveal an old wooden chest underneath. The scent of musk tickled his nose as his hand brushed over the rotten wood. "What's in here?"

The Maester simply gave a shrug of his bony shoulders implying that he had no clue what was within the trunk. Sandor scoffed and lifted the lid to reveal piles of rolled up parchment, some old books and something that made his good eye grow large and the scars on his face ache with memory. Slowly his hand grasped around the small figurine of the carved knight and brought it out of its coffin to inspect it in the dying light of the day. He wanted to personally crush the wooden reminder underneath his grip and watch it turn to fragments. His gloved hand squeezed, but ceased once he spotted the small rolled up parchment in place where the knight's spear once was held in the toy's wooden hand. Curiously he pulled out the tightly rolled paper and discarded the toy back into the trunk. Delicately he unraveled the contents and read in silence. His face twisted with confusion and brought the Maester to question him.

"May I be of some assistance, Sir?" Sandor glared at him for a moment, knowing full well the old bag of bones was assuming he couldn't read. "Yes, you can get this shit out of my sight as I have instructed. I don't even want to see the ashes." He shoved the paper in the pouch of his cloak. "Tell the stable hand to get my horse; I am heading back to the Capital."

**The Celebration**

Trumpets roared over the jovial crowds that gathered within the markets and the streets of Kings Landing. Where once destruction and blood flowed upon those cobbled streets, now sang merriment and the scents of prosperity to be had by all. People cried out in happiness as drinks and food were shared amongst all – rich and poor- alike. Today was a moment of celebration.

It had only been one year since that dreadful day when they rode upon the Capital to claim the Iron Throne; however rebirth happened quickly from those ashes. With the death of Ceresi and the disbandment of her army, Jon and Dany destroyed the Iron Throne and all that was associated with that time. It was no longer a new chapter to an old story, but instead a new story all together.

The first chapter consisted of two rulers vowing to uphold a promise of peace among all and a congregation of the best of minds coming as one to truly bring together the seven kingdoms. That was the easy part, for ideas were always easier to implement than the actual deeds. The second chapter consisted of rebuilding; not just the rebuilding of infrastructures, but the building of solid relationships within the kingdom and beyond. No longer were titles and power given to those simply by birth right. It had to be earned. Only those who truly sacrificed were honored to share a piece of such powers. Today they celebrated such births.

They came from land and sea, and from every corner of the known world to celebrate this very moment and to mark the beginning of the third chapter; the chapter of change.

Fuck merriment. Fuck parties and joy and everything else that brings a crowd. He hated it all. His lips curled in disdain as Stranger pushed through the crowds of celebration that took place around him. Like a weed among flowers, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He didn't bother dressing for the occasion. His garbs were dark and worn from the travels, no marks indicating his family's house or his position within the court; yet he didn't require any of that to be recognized by the crowds. His scarred face was a visible reminder of the price many had to pay for today's festivities. Many knew him immediately and he could hear their whispers as he rode through.

" _That is Sandor Clegane! The Mountain killer!"_

"_The Hound…Joffrey's bodyguard…he killed Gregor!"_

"_Lost an eye I hear, that man gets uglier every time I see him."_

"_They say even after he cut his brother's head off, the body still was fighting!"_

He could feel their eyes staring at him as he rode by. He could handle the words, but the stares bothered him. One would think that after all these years he should have been use to the stares, but that was not the truth. It wasn't any better now, for he had new scars to add to his collection. The battle between him and his brother left him with some nasty scars and the loss of his left eye, which now was covered over with a patch. The previous year added more grey to his unkempt beard and stringy, brown hair and a deep tiredness settled firmly in his sad eyes. He found humor that his existence was parallel to that of the late Lord Beric. Both were hideous from their wounds, acquiring new disfigurements with each confrontation, and it seemed both had multiple lives to spare. The Hound's only hope was that when he was finally dead he stayed that way.

It was a week's worth of celebration, ceremonies and negotiations as plans began to build a new kingdom. Signatures and vows were given to solidify the joining of alliances and the headships of houses, and Sandor couldn't give a fuck over the whole ordeal. He played his part and mingled when necessary; not seeking company but accepting it when it came to him, however, for the most he remained isolated aside from his companion of a pitcher of ale.

All he desired was to get this damn circus performance out of the way so that he can get the hell out of here. His mind was comforted with the thought of some more hard ale and finding out the secret to that piece of parchment still tucked firmly away.

**The Inquiry**

There was only one person in particular that he purposely plucked out of the crowd – Samwell Tarly. Having been appointed the new Grand Maester ,a wide smile stretched across his boyish face as he marched his way through the halls. His mind was dancing with dreams of a better future and what he can do to bring about these grand changes. Enthralled with his own daydreams, he didn't realize the silent giant emerge from the shadows. It wasn't until a strong hand struck down upon his shoulders and yanked him to the side did he snap out of his dreams and face realty; realty being a very scarred, aged and angry looking man.

"What is this?" He shoved the piece of paper towards the stunned man. Samwell's gaze was frozen for a moment upon the Hound's mangled face, but slowly those brown orbs followed towards the paper in front of him.

A brow of curiosity rose and his body relaxed as he studied the words upon it. "Um…may I?" He finally spoke as he reached for the paper. Once he was able to secure it, he took a moment to truly survey the contents. The Hound silently watch, his large frame leaning against the walls with his arms tucked hard into his chest. His good eye watching Sam's facial features shift with expression.

"Where did you acquire this?" Sam finally rose his gaze back up.

"Does it fucking matter where I got it? What the fuck is it?" He growled back.

"Honestly, I do not know. This language is unique and not one I have come across. However, it appears to be very old and possibly…" He paused to bring the paper over and pointed towards the drawings bordering the words. "This looks familiar. I have seen similar carvings when I was beyond the Wall. I don't know what this is, but I would suggest you take this to Tormund. The free folk don't have a written language, but he may have some knowledge on what this may be."

He didn't have a chance to hand it back for it was quickly yanked out of his hand with a harsh grunt. "Last fucking person I need to deal with is that crazy, redheaded fuck!" He had a great disdain for the Wildfolk leader, finding the man to be overly loud and obnoxious.

"Please, let me know what he says. I will see what I can find out on my end, but I am baffled and yet greatly intrigued." Sam gave the man a kind smile, which only was returned with a harsh glare and the stomping away of heavy feet towards the guest wing of the castle.

"Have a wonderful night!" Sam called out watching the Hound storm off.

"Fuck off!" Was the reply shouted in return.

**No Foxes In King's Landing **

Tormund Giantsbane sighed with immense contentment as he melted his body into large chair that rested by a low burning fire. A horn of his special concoction rested firmly in his grip and a drunken smile stretch upon his handsome face. For him, this was a very happy ending to a long and much needed pleasurable experience. It was a mixture of the crackling fire, the perfumed wind whispering through the open balcony window and the faint music dying off in the distance that made his lids grow heavy with desired sleep. Sleep was like a woman's embrace and it was seducing him to come closer…closer…closer. He was almost there, teetering between this world and that of dreams when a faint howl sang up into the night.

Immediately his eyes darted open and he leaped from his chair towards the balcony. His hands pressed firmly on the marble railing as he leaned over to view the courtyard. Nothing except the darkness welcomed his sights.

"RAWWWRR!" Shouted the voice from behind him and startling him into a fighting stance.

"TOKALA!" His massive frame wasted no time in embracing the cloaked stranger and squeezing them tightly into his arms.

"You're squashing me!"

"And you like it!" He bellowed as he dragged the figure away from the balcony and into the room.

"You sly fox! Finally made it, ya did!" He was beaming with glee as he grabbed another chair to place across from his own.

The cloaked figure chuckled. "When I heard word that our people not only made it across the damn wall, but fought alongside these Southerners, I had to come see it with my own eyes!"

"I sent word for you to join. You're a bit late though." He chuckled as he grabbed a bottle and a glass to pour a drink.

" Late for the war, but never late for the celebration!" Those words made Tormund laugh heartedly and he poured a glass and handed it over to his cloaked guest.

"You are still drinking that horrible shit?! I have something better for you." A small,bottle was then presented to the Wildling, the fire's light making the emerald glass sparkle like jewels.

"What is this?" He questioned with a curious smile and reaching for the unknown substance.

"It is my gift to you. They call it 'Amalu Se Gwendess' the 'Kiss of the Goddess'. It can only be consumed in small quantities for it is very strong. Much stronger than that milky shit you consume daily.

"Oh Tokala, how I missed you!" He placed the bottle on the small table between them and finally sat down. "Now tell me, Little Fox, what truly brings you here?" His expression went from that of excitement to one of a slight stern.

"What? Can't I simply wish to see my older brother?"

"Foxes are always sly." He softly grinned. "I know there is more to your arrival than to see me."

His guest sighed. "Fine. However, I did truly wish to see you again. Once it was confirmed that the rumors of the war were true and that you and our people helped, I had to come see for myself the aftermath."

"But…" Tormund pushed further.

"However, assuming that you are now one of the Southern King's trusted friends and have proven yourself worthy, I figured…"

He quickly interrupted. "You figured I ended up with a shit ton of gold, a few castles of my own and some lovely women to warm my bed?"

"Perhaps, though you always have lovely women warming your bed, so that was already expected. I simply wanted to come see for myself what this place finally had to offer. King's Landing was always a hard place for me to get in to. Though, I had hoped this castle might have something to pique my interest."

"Well, I hate to break it to ya, but I got none of that. I pledged my loyalty because King Jon is truly our Northern brother. I am leader of our folks and I do receive some nice quarters while here, but that is all. We Wildlings have no need for Southerner's gold and titles."

"No, we don't need the titles, but the gold is always nice." His guest smiled wickedly.

"Oh, my little fox, always needing to collect a treasure and to get into some sort of mischief."

"Truthfully brother, this place is rather disappointing. No great mystery to uncover, no immense treasures to behold. Oh, I am impressed with the unique variety of people that now grace the halls, but I have quickly grown bored."

Tormund laughed. "Bored…already? You have only just arrived!"

"No, I have been here for some time now. Remember, I do have many disguises of my own. Names and titles that carry no worth aside from gaining me entry into places and access to the things I want. I have been here over a fortnight; my stay here was going to be very short, but once I heard news of your arrival I couldn't leave without first gracing you with my lovely presence."

Tormund's mouth opened to reply but was interrupted by a multitude of hard poundings at his door. The pair both gazed at the door simultaneously. "Come in." Tormund finally spoke then looking over to see that his guest had vanished. He was given no time to process this new transition when Sandor entered his chambers.

Momentarily, the Hound stood in the dim lit room in a quiet observance. Despite now only having one eye, he was still very keen to taking in details quickly of his surroundings. Two chairs, two glasses and an unfamiliar, yet heavenly scent made his brow rise. "Was I intruding on something?" He finally addressed Tormund.

"Nah, just sittin' here conversing with the fox outside my window." His lips curled into a large grin.

"There ain't no fucking foxes in King's Landing you idiot." The Hound growled.

Finding no reason to argue on the subject, Tormund quickly shifted tactics. "Did ya see the young woman by my side these last few nights?" He waited with anticipation only to be greeted with a dead pan gaze.

"Cassandra Mormont. Nothing special, typical cunt ass lady.I suppose you have finally given up on the Tarth bitch?"

He watched the smile fade from Tormund's face. "Nothing will ever compare to her, but it seems I have gathered myself a nice following of ladies wishing to know how a Wildling King is in bed." His eyes then grew wide and the smile returned. "Did she ask about me?"

"Who?"

"Brienne. Did she say anything to you about me? " His expression was that of a pathetic puppy looking for any bit of scrap.

"How the fuck would I know! "

Tormund shrugged. "So what brings you here? Want a drink?" He didn't wait for a reply. Quickly he uncorked the small, green bottle and secured two smaller cups to pour the amber liquid in. Slightly thinner than the consistency of honey, the substance gave off a tart yet welcoming aroma. Tormund handed a glass over to his unfriendly friend. "Come let us celebrate to the victories we had, the fights we fought and the wet cunts we will have!"

Sandor glared at the contents before watching Tormund swig down the odd drink to which he began to cough madly.

"Kicks ya right in the balls, that sure does!" He laughed as he caught his breath. "Fuck! That was fun!"

The Hound followed suit and emptied the drink in one gulp. At first it was a sweet tingle followed by a hard blow to his senses and a slight spin to his head. Like Tormund, the drink took his breath away but left a satisfied sensation to follow afterward.

"Good wasn't it?! It is called 'Kiss of the Goddess'. " Tormund placed the bottle down. "What do you got there?" His head cocked towards the paper tightly being held in the Hound's hand.

"Samwell said you might be able to give me some answers about this." He shoved the paper into the hands of the Wildling. "Found it in my brother's stash. He doesn't keep shit for sentimental reasons, so it has to be worth something."

Tormund chuckled. "Heard ya burned your family's land to the ground."

"Not all of it, just the parts that made me remember. The villages still stand; I ain't going to uproot the lives of the innocent. Anyone who has the balls to have dealt with my brother deserves a chance at some happiness."

Tormund didn't respond as he had focused his sights on the paper. Like Samwell before him, a curious expression crept over him and his eyes sparkled as he soaked in the details.

"Well? What the fuck is it?" The Hound had no patience and demanded an answer immediately.

"If this is truly authentic, I say you found yourself an invitation to participate in the legendary tournament of Death, Garavaldeesh. In common tongue it means 'They who embrace Death". But, it is said to be only a legend.

"What do you mean a tournament? Why would my brother have that?"

"The Garavaldeesh is a story told amongst my people, though I have only met one man in my lifetime that claims to have participated. See this?" He pointed to the symbol of what appeared to be a circle with four spikes jetting out from it and one pointing upwards toward the center. "That is the crest of the Garavaldeesh. There is said to be five parts to the tournament." His finger pointed to each individual spike. "The man who told me about this quit after the second part. He came back missing both an arm and a leg, an ear, both eyes and some of his face. He ended up living a long life though, had over a hundred kin to follow and wasn't lacking in women. He claimed his cock grew five extra inches to make up for the lack of limbs"

The Hound growled at the man's tangent. "Get to the fucking point."

"It is said that whoever wins this tournament, wins enough gold to rule the world! First you must either find or be given the invitation to participate. These papers are hidden all over the known and unknown worlds so I am assuming that is how your brother came into possession of this one. Huncroft, the man which I spoke of, said he found his nestled in the notch of a dying tree when he was out hunting. Claimed it shimmered in the sunlight like a piece of gold, but when he inspected it, it was only a rolled parchment." With that, Tormund rolled the paper back up and handed it back over.

Something rooted itself within him as Tormund spun his tale. The coiling thought of independent wealth. Sandor wasn't a man who ever desired riches, titles or worldly items. His entire life up to this point was dedicated to revenge and therefore he desired nothing else. With Gregor dead the desire of revenge died and left nothing else to replace it. He got some pleasure in burning down his brother's estates and distributing the wealth to the needy, but even that began to lose its luster. Soon there wouldn't be anything left to remind him of Gregor aside from his own face. He had vowed that he would procure his own wealth and to create his own legacy beyond his family's name. To win such, doing what he knows best, seemed like easy pickings.

"Where is this place?" He finally spoke up, attempting not to sound too intrigued by the idea.

Tormund shrugged. "As far as I know it is located so far North that you end up back South…we call those lands South Again. Very few have ever ventured that far and even fewer ever made it back to talk about it. Basically, you just keep walking North. Ya aren't actually thinking of going to look for this, are ya?"

"I might. Got nothing else to occupy my time and I have no desire to stay here and play knight or lord or whatever the fuck they want me to do. The way I see it there is more to this world than what I have witnessed and if I die out there in the cold depths of the world than so be it; at least I wouldn't have to put up will anymore bullshit."

Tormund poured himself and Sandor another drink. "To South Again! To GARVALDEESH! May you be victorious, or at least live long enough to tell me all about it! " The Hound didn't share in the cheer, but did accompany the man in gulping down the hard liquor once more. As he placed his cup on the table a thump was heard from the balcony. The hairs on the back of Sandor's neck rose as the feeling of unwanted eyes were glaring at him from behind. He quickly turned his head to look over at the empty balcony and the dark night.

"Foxes." Tormund spoke.

"I told ya, ain't no fucking foxes in Kings Landing." Were the Hound's parting words as he left the chambers.

Tormund looked back at the supposedly empty balcony. He sensed his visitor stayed to witness what was said and now vanished back into the night once hearing the details. "Perhaps not now, but there was." He refrained from pouring another glass, but instead popped the cork and took a hefty gulp straight from the bottle. "To Tokayla! May you stay the fuck out of trouble!"

**Go North And Then Further North**

Adventuring deep into the Wildling wilderness was definitely not something the Hound was looking forward to in the days to come. His first experience was almost his last, and those memories were still fresh wounds in his mind. The King and Queen wished to establish a stronger bond with their northern brethren and had gathered a party to act as ambassadors and accompany Tormund and his men back to their villages. Despite his dislike of company, Sandor felt that traveling with the group would get him further progress than traveling alone.

Unlike his last journey, this one proved less exciting. Though snow and ice still embraced the vast land, the winds were much warmer and carried with them that familiar sweetness of a coming spring. From the snowy grounds and towering trees, small hints of greenery were poking through; finally being able to awaken from their cold slumber.

Despite the ease of the journey, Sandor still felt as though he was being watched from afar. That same sensation he felt in Tormund's chambers still held tight to him, and every now and again that unique aroma would tease his nostrils. Something was off, he just didn't know what, and therefore he was on constant alert.

The world beyond the Wall was strange to those who were not accustomed to the freefolk's ways. There was no division of land, yet from time to time their journey would be delayed due to the inability to cross a snowy plain, or a particular rocky structure, because it apparently belonged to some unimportant group or individual. There would be areas of nothing but snow and rock as far as the eye could reach only to find a small village or collection of huts nestled in the middle of nowhere. People apparently lived in the caves of mountains, underneath the ground and according to Tormund , even in the trees. It all sounded like nonsense to a man who grew up in actual structures, but indeed they soon came upon a small grove of trees where large nests could be seen resting in the strongest reaches of the branches.

By the time they reach the trading village, Sandor was exhausted on every level of mind, body and spirit (if he still possessed one). It wasn't an enormously large village, but one that still held a crowd of men, women and children bustling about. For the group, this was the first stop of many to begin negotiations and establishing needed relationships, leaving the Hound to continue his journey alone.

He dismounted Stranger and took a moment to finally survey his current surroundings. Despite the crowd, no one seemed to even notice him. Neither his height, nor his mangled face seemed to displace him among the others, but instead it seemed to blend him right in with current crowd. There were men and women who look far more hideous than he and they ranged in all shapes and sizes. Oddly, it was the current ambassadors and fellow Lords and Ladies that stood out and were the obvious mockery. For the first time, Sandor Clegane felt almost welcome among others.

"Beautiful ain't it. Awe, it is good to be home!" The pleasant moment was quickly ruined when a massive arm engulfed his shoulder and that devil's grin met his gaze.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me." The Hound warned, but Tormund choose to ignore.

"We part ways here, my friend. Ya see that collection of mountains over there?" His hand pointed carelessly into the far off direction.

"There are mountains everywhere."

"Nah, those twin peaks over there!" Tormund nudged him to follow his finger towards two massive mountains that were nearly touching for the exception of a sliver of space between them.

"What of it. They are mountains."

"Come the mornin' ya start off in the northeastern direction. Go beyond those peaks and through the woods, eventually you will come to a fishing village. I have knowledge that there will be a ship there securing men to take to South Again. They trade with those folks, our men for their weapons."

"There are slavers here?" Sandor interrupted.

Tormund nodded. "Some tribes trade in their prisoners or those who they feel created a crime against them. Not a common occurrence, but one that does happen. However, if you have coin, you can secure yourself passage to travel safely. I don't know exactly where the ship goes, but I do believe it will take you to your desired destination…"He paused, cocked his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Eventually…maybe…perhaps not. But it does keep heading North and that is the direction you need to go."

His hand padded against the Hound's broad, stiff chest. "Now, come and drink and get some rest! Perhaps you may even put in a good word for me with Brienne before leaving. I think she is jealous of Cassandra." Brienne had been appointed as one of the ambassadors to accompany them on the trip as had Lady Cassandra, assuming that she may be a prospective marriage partner to secure the alliance between the Wildlings and Westeros nobles.

The Hounded grunted but made no attempt to follow and provided no acknowledgement of his request. For awhile he stood there as Tormund stepped away, and stared up towards the direction he was given. As his brown eye fixated on the silent rocky giants rising up out of the ground, a pair of blue eyes met amber eyes and nodded an acknowledgement in passing behind him. Tormund had succeeded in relaying the message.

The following morning, he raced the sun. The warm rays nipped at his heels as he trudged through the unforgiving terrain. He was on his own now; him and Stranger in the unknown and heading to further unknowns. It took him over a day and a half to get through those mountains and he cursed the entire time, however, despite the difficulty of the land, it became a welcoming peace to be alone with his own thoughts. The night proved that he was not alone, as his small fire accompanied the light of many sprinkled through the mountain range and below, reminding him that this seemingly barren land was thriving with life. Strangely, this too brought him a sense of comfort. Did he truly desire companionship? It was an awkward sensation he did not wish to acknowledge at this time, but one he knew he couldn't always avoid.

**The Rabbit Duel**

He claimed victory, when he came out to the vast forest that was nestled into the valley below. He inhaled deep the smells of the crisp mountain air that was intoxicated with the wooded hues of spruce, pine and quaking aspen. It was invigorating and renewed his energy to keep moving. The forest was rich in wild life, yet absent in human life. He noticed neither large nests in the canopies, nor small fires in the nights; yet the sensation of being watch was growing more intense the further he ventured in.

After three days his supplies was running low and so the following day he decided to rest and construct a small camp and a few rabbit traps. He occupied his time by swigging down the last few drops of ale he had in his possession and performing needed tasks to ensure he had everything in place to make the next steps in this journey. Since coming to the roaring streams, he was certain he was not far from the fishing village Tormund claimed existed and he wanted to make sure all was in order.

From time to time in his actions, he would pull the invitation out and look it over. His callused finger would etch over the symbol of the spiked circle as he attempted to imagine what fates waited for him. What such events could possibly defeat every being that ever attempted them? The paper provided zero answers but a hundred questions to rattle his aching head. The ache made him desire a strong drink to subdue it back into slumber.

From his right peripheral he had noticed the plump hare curiously coming upon the trap he had in place. Quickly he tucked the paper away and prepared to gather his dinner for the night. In one fluid, instantaneous moment that the critter activated the trap did an arrow dart through the trees and pierce it. Immediately he leaped to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his dagger and his body ready to confront. He made his way, cautiously yet quickly over to the now dead carcass of the creature. Abruptly he scanned the area before kneeling down to investigate and angrily he yanked the strange arrow out of his dinner and tossed it to the side. It was still his catch as far as he was concerned.

As he was about to stand his eye caught the tips of leather in front of him and slowly he scanned upwards to reveal the woman standing before him. She was not dressed in the traditional garb of the Wildlings, but instead wore traveling clothes more accustomed to what would be found in Westeros. Dark breeches hugged slender, yet muscular long legs, a leather tunic of juniper hue was tightly laced to amplify her curved features and a heavy wool cloak rested firmly upon her shoulders and hung down to fall at the tops her brown boots. From his position on the ground and the direction of the sun, her faced was concealed by the hood of her cloak, but that did not prevent him from resting his indignantly gaze upon it. It was as if she appeared out of thin air, for she made no noise upon her approach and yet here she stood hovering over him with her gloved hands holding tight her bow with a new arrow ready to be pulled back and launched.

"Excuse me. That is my catch you got there." Her voice possessed a sultriness of refinery than the harsh tongue of the free folk, yet a hint of such accent still sang through ever so subtly.

"It was in my fucking trap. This is a big wood with more than just this one rabbit. Go get your own." He was not intimated by her and when he rose he purposely lingered for a brief moment to tower over her height.

"It was MY arrow that killed it" She protested as she watched him rise from his feet and stand over her. She didn't cower back, but planted her stance firmly in retaliation.

"Not my problem." He growled

Briefly there was a moment of silence between them. Her head cocked slightly to one side. "Aren't you a sight to behold! What the hell happened to your face?" She was brazen with her words which struck him still. Before he could answer, she continued. "I know you…you came with the others from the trading village. You are the one that killed a mountain. They call you…'The Dog'? No, 'The Hound", don't they? The tone of her voice sang with some merriment as she questioned him.

He could have gutted her right there and then. Part of him wanted to. He would never hide his face, but it was a sore subject of his when drawn attention to. "Fuck off." Was his response and he turned away to begin making his way back to his campsite.

She snickered at his harsh response, hung her bow to her side and relaxed her stance to follow on his heels. "Listen Houn…"

She was unable to finish her sentence as he had already turned back around and had drawn his dagger to rest its point underneath her unseen chin. She froze still in her tracks. "I SAID FUCK OFF…" His giant frame closed the distance between them. " Before my mangled face is the last fucking thing you see in this world!" That last phrase was spoken through gritted teeth.

She chuckled. Definitely not the reaction he wanted but not one that surprised him either. Her amusement made him press the dagger ever so further against her flesh. "Perhaps…" She spoke through an unseen smile. "You should be more observant."

He felt a slight poke of a blade's tip between his groin and the crook of his leg. She was prepared to fight just as he was. "Are we really going to quarrel and kill each other over a stupid rabbit?"

He grunted, refusing to remove his stance. She continued. "We can share, as you do have a fire that is currently being wasted. There doesn't need to be bloodshed over such nonsense. I have a delicious wine to share." Her free hand tapped against the wineskin resting on her hip.

Very slowly he released the tip of his blade from her flesh and she did the same in response. Both took a step back from one another. The small distance provided him the opportunity to see the tiny blade she had held against him. No bigger than the length of a finger, but jagged; enough to hit the intended artery and shred it.

"Fine." He stepped to the side to allow her access towards the campfire. He noticed that she had elegance and grace to her steps, like that of a well bred Lady; however her steps were precise, silent but harsh like that of a stalker. The memory of Arya and her waterdancing suddenly struck his thoughts, and his inner instinct warned him to watch this newcomer carefully.

He followed her, but where he stopped short of the fire to begin skinning the rabbit, she walked just a bit further to stand and face the scenery of the rising trees and roaring stream in front of them.

"Is that your horse?" She questioned as her gaze fell upon Stranger, who was currently drinking from a small resting pool by the stream.

"That is Stranger, he isn't keen on others and will kick." He warned, only briefly looking up when she questioned him before returning to prepping the meat.

She ignored his warning and walked over to the massive, onyx beast without an ounce of trepidation towards him. At first, Stranger's nostrils flared, he huffed and swished his tail at her growing approach. Lacking hesitancy, she removed the glove from her hand and gently stroked the creature's mane; the immediate contact brought him a sudden calmness and his body relaxed under her touch. From her pouches, she lifted up a treat for him which he greedily consumed.

"What the fuck did you just feed my horse?" The Hound snarled as he witnessed the opposite reaction of what he predicted.

"Don't get your underclothes in a ruffle, it is only sweet root. It grows in abundance here; the children love to chew on it." She spun slightly to show him what appeared to resemble the bark of a tree but with an alabaster sheen to it. "Horses love it too." Stranger was no different and quickly nudged at her hand to get the rest.

Once finished, she brushed the remains from her hand against her thigh and walked back to where the mangled man was now skewing the meat and placing it over the fire. "You never told me you name. I would like to know with whom I share a meal with tonight."

"You never told me yours." He responded without looking up at her and allowed a brief pause before answering. "Sandor Clegane, but you can call me Hound as everyone else does."

Her hand reached up and removed the hood of her cloak to reveal her face. "I am called Tokala…Tokala Giantsbane."

The Hound froze in his actions at hearing that last bit and immediately shot up his sights to her. He now stared upon an unworldly visage. A thick mane of crimson was tied high and hung down her back, the tips were white as snow and resembled that of a fox's tail. Her skin, though softly kissed by the sun, still was pale in complexion aside from a slight rose hue on her cheeks. However, it was her eyes that struck him the hard. Piercing amber orbs seemed to glow with a supernatural illumination as she allowed him a moment to drink her in. Plush lips curved into a familiar, mischievous grin; she knew she struck a chord.

"Giantsbane?" He finally muttered. "Any relation to Tormund Giantsbane?" He didn't need any verification for he already knew just by the smile on her lips.

"My older brother." She confirmed; her smile growing wider as his lips frowned further. "Most call me Little Fox." She crouched down on the other side of the fire pit, resting at his current level. "I take it that you are good friends with my dear brother?"

He could see the resemblance of the pair in her facial mannerism, a mixture of smugness, teasing and mischief. There was no doubt she and Tormund shared blood.

"He is nothing more than a smug cunt hair." His insult at her brother made her laugh hard. She even laughed like him, though her laughter was more harmonious and Tormund's was loud and guttural, both held something within it that made his skin crawl with irritation. "You don't look like any Wildling I ever saw."

"Oh?!" A crimson brow rose with curiosity. "And you have seen every Wildling to compare?" Her voice teased as she caught on to his irritable reaction towards her. Ever so slightly she leaned forward. "I am part fox." Her hand grabbed her hair to show him her tail. "See?"

He gave a skeptical reaction and shifted the meat within the fire.

"It is true!" She protested, telling that he didn't believe her. "Tormund is only my half brother. Our father was a great hunter for our clan and a skilled Warg. As Tormund told me, as our father was in the body of a tod,he mated with a white, heated vixen. She followed our father during her gestation period and birthed her young at his heels. All were still for the exception of me. There I was, coated in white fur, yet a human babe all the same. He slaughtered my mother and wore her tail at his side. Scooped me up and brought me back home to the woman I would call mother and slapped me on her still milking teat; for she was still nursing my two older siblings at that time. Once I suckled the milk of a human, the white fur shed to the ground and there I was, bare skinned for the exception of my hair which marked me a fox's child."

Sandor listened to her tale and when she finished he chuckled. "You definitely are that ass's blood; both of you spin tales of bullshit!" His voice grunted at her as he yanked off a chunk of flesh from the roasted hare and handed to her. "Are all you Wildlings partial to fucking animals, or is it just your clan that specializes in that?"

Tokala shrugged. "At least we don't fuck our own family." She paused after delivering the jab and sank her teeth into the tender flesh. "I guess you know about Sheila?" She questioned after swallowing the meat.

The Hound nodded as he tore into his own meal. "Everyone with ears has been tortured by that damn story."

She laughed. "Yes, it is one of his favorites to tell." She unhooked the wineskin from her side and threw it at his feet. "As promised." She nudged her head for him to take.

Immediately he threw the meat down and lifted the skin up to uncork the top. The liquid immediately quenched his desired need. The body was rich with familiar flavors of home, yet had undertones of citrus flavor. "This is good." He chimed with satisfaction. "Never expected a good wine to come from a place like this."

"It isn't from here." She corrected. "That is from the isle of Ibben, off the coast of Essos."

He sneered as he took another deep gulp of the delicious brew. "And how did you get it?"

Her face held a serious expression. "I was there."

"You? You have been to Essos? A Wildling?" This time he laughed but she nodded.

"I have. I have been all over. I have crossed the Narrow Sea many of times and traversed the lands and learned the culture. I have been escaping beyond that Wall ever since I was a child. I have become somewhat of a smuggler for my people."

The Hound grunted at her explanation as he engaged in another sip. It felt as though he couldn't get enough of the rich substance.

"The winemakers of Ibeen are very skilled in their craft." The tone of her voice changed slightly as she watched him indulge. " They are also very skilled in poison and medical concoctions that they normally incorporate into their fine wines." Those amber eyes grew wide as she watched him stop mid drink.

His face grew with a mixture of anger, uncertainty and a hint of fear as he realized what she was saying. Immediately he threw down the skin, and reached for his dagger, he was going to skin her alive and wear her tail as a trophy. Unfortunately, he didn't get very far. He noticed the delay in his hand's reaction the second he reached for the hilt and he immediately felt his body grow heavy as though a hundred stones were being slowly piled on top of him.

Tokala jumped out of his reach, but still kept near as she watched him attempt to rise up from his growing paralyzed state. "Now that particular wine that you now just enjoyed won't kill you. It does, however, paralyze you for a time and in a few moments it will make you fall into the deepest sleep you ever had. Some say it is like dying and being resurrected again."

On cue he began to feel the pull of sleep taking over his senses. Internally he fought it; his spirit fighting with all its might to stop the effects from taking over his body. "Bi…Bitch." His voice whispered at her as he fell to the ground.

That unfamiliar yet heavenly scent embraced him as she drew closer to him. Her body leaned over him as she watched the effects consume him. He grunted and groaned but could not fight it off; and as his good eye began to close, the last image he saw was those amber eyes smiling down upon him with pure satisfaction.


End file.
